Satire The Trump Dig

Pardon Me. Please.

“Horrific! It was just horrific what they did to him.”
The Rudygiuliani nodded profusely, eyes bulging, teeth gnashing.
“They had the gall to say they were just doing their job. You’re absolutely right, T-Rump. He never had a chance.”

“Horrific! It was just horrific what they did to him.”

The Rudygiuliani nodded profusely, eyes bulging, teeth gnashing.

“They had the gall to say they were just doing their job. You’re absolutely right, T-Rump. He never had a chance.”

The two dinos were discussing the plight of the Manaforta following two cataclysmic shockwaves reverberating the Oval Dwelling. The Manaforta had been convicted of eight criminal counts, mere minutes after the Michaelcohen entered a guilty plea on eight counts as well. The Manaforta and the Michaelcohen, two cronies of the T-Rump’s inner circle, now laid claim to a new species designation as the Convicto Felonus.

Further to this low rung on the classification ladder, the Michaelcohen had made a startling new classification of his own, naming the T-Rump as an Unindictus Coconspiratus. Not a good nickname for the leader of the free-running dinosaur world. Hence the meeting, where he and the Rudygiuliani mulled over their options in a mad world gone madder.

“Should we pardon the Manaforta?” asked the T-Rump. “Such a brave dino for keeping his mouth shut in the Solitary Sinkhole. Now that’s loyalty. I think we should pardon him.”

“I’m, uh … not sure about that. The political fall-out would be tremendous. Maybe we should wait. Squat on this one a little longer.”

“Why squat?” asked the T-Rump. “I just told the Foxsquawkbox these moolah-moolah payments came out of my own veggie garden and I made the payment — yours truly — which I only knew about later. There’s no crime there. Every dino does it all the time. Everyone of them. I never bungled in the jungle with either the Stormydaniels or the Karenmcdougal. Of course we can’t get into why I was paying them. The Milkanhoney Preservation doesn’t need to know that. Because what they’re seeing and reading is not what’s happening. I’ve made this extremely clear, Rudy.”

“All good talking points, T-Rump. I’m doing my best with the Truth-isn’t-Truth game plan. Anything to muddy the waters and confuse the hell out of our White Supremasaurus base. But the Manaforta still has another trial in Dino Court coming up.”

“Another trial? What the–? It’s that damn Sessionsopossum!” The T-Rump lashed out with his long tail, carving another groove in the Whaling-Away Wall of the Oval Dwelling. “Whose side does he think he’s on?!  He should’ve taken control of this. He was my very first warrior. I only made him the top legal dino in the land because he was with my war campaign. Where’s his loyalty?”

There was a dino tail waving meekly from the doorway. It was the Huckabeecyclops.

“There you are” said the T-Rump. “Tell me, in the Mediacircustops briefing today, how many times did you say, ‘I’ve already covered this to death, there are no charges and there’s no collusion period.’”


“Good, that’s good.”

“But T-Rump, there were no Mediacircustops there.”

“Don’t worry. That’s because I wasn’t there. Keep trotting out that message though. It’s their loss, not ours.”

“Of course, I just wanted to say that the Sessionsopossum, let me see if I get this right, he said that his legal dinos are not going to be improperly influenced by, um … you, T-Rump.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you tell him … you tell him …”

“Yes?” The Huckabeecyclops stared dumbly ahead, caught yet again in a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside the T-Rump’s cracked walnut.

“What do we tell him?” the T-Rump asked the Rudygiuliani.

“Me? Well, uh … the usual suspects never hurts. Tell him to go after all the Donkeykongrus corruption, the Comeyonus, the Muellersavus conflicts, the Andrewmccabe, the Peterstrzok, the Crookadillary …”

The Huckabeecyclops sighed.


“Yes, again,” roared the T-Rump. “And what did I say about that defeatist attitude? We’re winning dammit!”

He glared at her, getting angrier that she was still rooted to the spot. He seethed at her.

“Why are you not moving?”

“I have more news.”

“What, is my parade back on?” He turned hopefully at the Rudygiuliani, who quickly looked away.

“No,” she said. “It’s the Peckersaurus. He’s been granted immunity.”

The T-Rump clutched his heart, gasping for air.

“That Peckersaurus … he’s going to screw me!”

The Rudygiuliani’s bulging eyes rolled. Twice.

“For once, I – I don’t know what to say. Truth isn’t truth but screwing is screwing.”

“Oh, T-Rump?” asked the Huckabeecyclops.

“What now? Haven’t you caused enough trouble today? … I need some cheering up. Go find the Weisselbergus and find out how much moolah-moolah we transferred this week from the Foundation to my Organization.”

“That’s why I’m here, T-Rump. The Weisselbergus? He was just granted immunity too.”

This time the T-Rump’s hand never made it to his heart. He fainted dead away, face first into a pile of cheezbuggabuggas.

By David Belisle

I'm a novelist and screenwriter in search of the Great Guffaw. It's kind of like getting hit with a bucket of Gatorade. It's a good time that sticks with you.

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